


Days of Quarantine

by lyricalsoul



Series: Days of Quarantine [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dialogue-Only, I have no shame, M/M, Quarantine, bread baking, liberties taken, mentions of celebrities - Freeform, mystrade, quaratine things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: Happily married, Mycroft and Greg are isolating together. This is what happened on the odd days.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Days of Quarantine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707334
Comments: 27
Kudos: 94
Collections: Isolated Johnlock Collection





	Days of Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by true or true-like events that may or may not have happened while we're on lock down.
> 
> It's just a bit of fun. Don't be offended or think I'm making light of world events. Liberties were taken.  
> Shitty or racist comments will be deleted, and shitty, racist messages sent to me via email or whatever will be shared publicly. Be NICE
> 
> Thank you to edenlost for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> To better days...

**Day one**

“Mycroft… you’re not listening to me.”

“I am listening to you, Gregory. You are being obtuse.”

“Well, you can’t make me stay here.”

“I’m not _making_ you do anything. We are under orders to quarantine ourselves. And so we shall.”

“Shall we? What about my job, your job, the… whatever? I can’t just sit here in this bubble while people suffer. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. However, we will help where we can, albeit remotely, with our resources. I’ll leave that part to you to handle.”

“I… I’m sorry, love. It’s just that I’m… this isn’t normal. I feel helpless. And worried. We could both get sick.”

“True. But haven’t you found, that since we married, things go much easier when we’re not working at cross purposes? Things are complicated, but we’ll be fine, Gregory. Our supplies are laid in, and I’ve arranged it so we both work from home. “

“I should be out there, helping.”

“You should not. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you’re near sixty, and have had pneumonia twice in the past two years. All of which makes you a prime candidate for this virus. I’ll not risk your health. You can work from home.”

“But –”

“Your colleagues, present and former, are safe. Sherlock and John are safe. Your father, sister, and aunt, all safe. Groceries have been delivered, along with cleaning supplies, gloves, hand cleanser, and bleach. No one has any need to go out.”

“But –”

“You won’t be without work. I’ve taken the liberty of having you signed on as a consultant for Intelligence, along with scouring your unofficial channels for anyone in need of good and services that doesn’t have access to them. Your office here has been upgraded to accommodate your higher security clearance. You can work in your pyjamas, as you’ve so often wished.”

“I’m worried.”

“As am I. However, this is what we can do for now. Please curb your natural inclination to do the opposite of what I suggest, and stay here with me.”

“I don’t do that.”

“There are numerous examples of you doing just that, Gregory. Shall we revisit the incident with the murderer and the reason you have a scar on your lower back? Or the first time you got pneumonia because you refused to get your cough treated? Shall I go on?”

“I hate you.”

“Another one for the file. Do you ever tire of being so predictable?”

“Do you ever tire of being such a great pillock?”

“You married me. Practically dragged me to the register’s office in the middle of the night. What does that say about you?”

“That I’m insane.”

“You are. And thank you for acquiescing so quickly, even though you ‘hate’ me.”

“Didn’t mean it. I love you so bloody much.”

“I know.”

“Thank you for making sure everyone is safe and has what they need. You’re a good man.”

“We’ll see what you say a week from now.”

***

**Day three**

“Oh god… that was just… amazing, love.”

“It was quite satisfying. However, we’re not going to survive this quarantine if you continue to distract me by walking around unclothed. I am only human.”

“A human sex god, more like.”

“We’re supposed to be working. And maintaining social distance.”

“We sleep in the same bed. That ship sailed, Mycroft.”

“I cannot have sex with you five times a day, Gregory. It’s half-three, and I’ve already pushed four meetings to have a lie-in. I have work to do.”

“It was four times. The first one didn’t count.”

“Are you even attempting to listen to me?”

“I am. I’m just clarifying that the first time didn’t count. You know, for the record.”

“It most certainly did, though it is unfortunate that you weren’t there. Now please get up, shower, and finish your paperwork. It’s your turn to make dinner. And no more pasta.”

“You like pasta.”

“I did until you served it cold for breakfast. And for lunch. Also, I can’t go out be measured for new shirts should I gain more weight.”

“Whatever. You’ve turned very bossy.”

“Someone has to keep us sane. Given the choice, you’d let anarchy rule.”

“Slapdash, that’s me.”

“A curry would be lovely, along with a salad, and nice wine. There’s a Riesling in the refrigerator.”

“Magic words?”

“By seven.”

“Tosser.”

**Day five**

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Painting.”

“Obviously. I suppose the better question is why you’re painting the guest bathroom.”

“We were going to have it done. I figured I’d give it a go.”

“You are an excellent detective inspector. A painter, not so much.”

“Thanks.”

“A bit messy. And the colour is dreadful.”

“You picked it.”

“Under duress. Might I suggest that you leave the painting to the professionals?”

“Intelligence is boring, and I needed something to do.”

“Of the approximately two hundred point six things you could do to pass the time, you chose to do something you are not skilled at.”

“Go away.”

“Of course. There’s cottage pie for your tea.”

“Ta, love. I’ll be all right.”

“I do hope so.”

**Day seven**

“Be a love, and show me your bubbles, Otis. There’s a love. Oh, you’re coming right along, aren’t you?”

“Who are you talking to?”

“My sourdough starter. Otis Breading.”

“I’m sorry?”

“To make bread. A starter. Water, flour, wild yeast, and time. We’ll have some nice loaves by the weekend.”

“You’ve taken up baking? You were knitting last night.”

“I can multi-task.”

“Oh, I know.”

“That was very lecherous sounding.”

“It wasn’t my intention to arouse you yet again. It’s just… you’re going to make bread? I only ask because you made cookies, and they were dreadful.”

“You distracted me, rolling up your sleeves. I forgot all about them, and they got burnt. Ish.”

“Burning them made them palatable.”

“You have no idea how sexy your forearms are, with all those freckles and ginger hair…”

“Do not touch me with flour all over your shirt.”

“You’ll thank me when you have bread fresh from the oven, Mycroft. It’s the most delicious thing ever.”

“I have eaten bread directly from the oven too many times to name. There was a croissant directly from Laurent Duchene’s oven to my mouth… oh, lord, was it delicious. And there was the time when my cover was blown, and I had to hide in a monastery in… well, you don’t need to know where… the brothers made a bread with a milk dough and cooked in a stone hearth, and the time I found myself in Amish country, eating a fluffy cinnamon roll that was… what?”

“Your little tidbits about your life in the field.”

“I wasn’t always this sedentary.”

“Oh, I know. You should write a book.”

“I would be killed.”

“Well, this took a turn.”

“Yes. Apologies. I don’t want to keep you from your dough. I’ll be in my office for the remainder of the day. Enjoy your day.”

“You, too. Oh, and Mycroft…?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not… this is a just another way to soothe my anxiety.”

“I am aware. We’ll be fine, Gregory. I love you.”

**Day nine**

“Did you sneeze?”

“What?”

“Are you sick? Feverish? You feel warm. Oh my god, Mycroft…”

“Calm yourself, Gregory. I’m not feverish. I have allergies, as you well know.”

“That wasn’t an allergy sneeze.”

“While I am unsure what factors you’re using to differentiate sneezes, I am certain that you’re not a doctor. I’m fine.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t? No, you wouldn’t.”

“I would have to tell you, since you would likely fall ill as well.”

“Do I have a fever?”

“You don’t. Gregory… Please take a few deep breaths and calm down. It’s going to be all right.”

“It won’t. Nothing will ever be the same. I’m just…”

“I know. But we’ll get through it, as we always do.”

“You think so? Mycroft, if you get sick, what am I going to do? What if… I don’t know if I could go on, if something happened to you.”

“You would.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“It is not my nature to panic. Or make decisions based on fear. So far, we’re fine. That’s all we have, and it’s what we have to go on.”

“Yeah all right.”

“Don’t despair, Gregory. Just know that I need your optimism and sense of purpose for the days ahead. Left to my own devices…”

“Oh, no one wants that. I remember the last time.”

“I admit that my response was disproportionate.”

“What an understatement. At any rate, thanks for talking me down. I love you, Mycroft Holmes.”

“I believe I heard you say that to a loaf of bread this morning…”

**Day eleven**

“Another delivery? What is it this time? Oh, it’s from Bespoke dot com. I wonder what could possibly be in that box.”

“Gregory, please.”

“What? Oh, look… shirts! A white one, a blue one, tan, and… whatever this is. You have these shirts already.”

“Parchment, robin’s egg, pale almond, and sage herringbone check. And I do not have them.”

“Whatever. As if you need more shirts during a quarantine.”

“And how many dutch ovens and baking tins did you have delivered? Not to mention cooking timers, a pizza stone, proving basket, oven gloves, and a medieval torture blade, which is concerning.”

“It’s a dough scorer, you berk. Why would I have a… never mind.”

“Why, indeed.”

“The online bakers that I chat with made suggestions for things to have for home baking.”

“So, on the advice of internet strangers –” 

“Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry are part of the group.” 

“Pardon me, then.”

“You have no idea who they are.”

“I will be sure to check your group for subversives.”

“So predictable. All I’m saying is you’re working from home. Why do you even bother to dress up?”

“I am not ‘dressed up’. I’m wearing my normal clothing.”

“You even put on your watch and chain. No one can see it.”

“I suppose I should be like you and hold a meeting in a t-shirt and track pants?”

“No one could see me below the waist. And there was one chap, Aurelias, I think? He had on a nightgown before he realised he was live. I don’t judge.”

“Archibald, and he’s well known for attempting to seduce the members of his team. I hope you didn’t flirt with him.”

“If ‘nice colour’ is flirting…?”

“Gregory.”

“Live, and let live. I’m just saying you don’t always have to be so formal. Maybe no waistcoat?”

“I may as well meet while bathing. I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t wear the same shirts to twice daily meetings.”

“God forbid.”

“Oh, he’s sent some ties and pocket squares as well. And look, Gregory… wool socks! It’s as though it’s Christmas.”

“Posh git.”

“Bread baking heathen.”

**Day thirteen**

“Gregory?”

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

“Why are you still in bed? It’s nearly noon. You didn’t check in with your team.”

“So? Where am I going? What is there to do? NOTHING.”

“Are you – ”

“We’re sunk, Mycroft. It’s getting worse. What if I get sick? What if you get sick? Your mum, my dad… Sherlock or John? It’s all just gone to shit, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I know, dearest, but you can’t break down over what might happen. We have to take it day by day.”

“You don’t know! You can’t control or outthink it. The world is ending, love.”

“It’s not. It’s changed, of course, and we’ll have to rebuild and move forward. We’re going to be fine. It will just take time.”

“The world isn’t the same. It won’t ever be the same.”

“I know. But however it ends up, we’ll still have each other, right?”

“Yes, but –”

“We will. You won’t get rid of me so easily, Gregory. Besides, if you give up, who will feed your sourdough starters?”

“There is that.”

**Day fifteen**

“Please choose something, Gregory.”

“What?”

“You’ve been scrolling through the menu for ten minutes. Choose a film.”

“Nothing interesting.”

“Really? You’ve every streaming service available, every channel, every DVD, everything one could want. A thousand choices, and there’s nothing?”

“I’m bored. I want to go out and do normal things. My mind is rotting. And if you’re even thinking to say ‘how can you tell’, you’ll be in the guest room. And not the good one.”

“I hadn’t thought to say that for weeks now. Perhaps I should revive it during these dark and troubling times, because you are becoming a touch whingey.”

“How are you not affected? Are you so embedded in ‘caring isn’t an advantage’ that you don’t even blink an eye at what’s happening?”

“I am not unaffected. But, let’s not go down this road again. I can’t deal with the pressure of work and the weight of your sullen silences.”

“I’m sorry, Mycroft. I’m just going mad.”

“How can you tell?”

“Hilarious. I’m nearly finished this week’s to-do list, and it’s only Monday.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“Further proof. It’s all a blur. I woke up with a headache, and was certain I was getting sick. I spent the whole of my morning taking my temperature and swilling cold medicine. I Skyped with John so much, he won’t take my calls anymore today.”

“Oh, Gregory…”

“I know.”

“We won’t get through this if we don’t communicate. Please come to me if you’re feeling overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to infect you if I were sick.”

“Moot point. I would most likely already be infected as well.”

“I panicked.”

“You did, and I understand it’s your nature. Pardon my sentimentalism, but were something to happen to you, I wouldn’t remarry right away. Six months, perhaps. What do you think about Garrick in Fraud?”

“Can you see him baking you sourdough bread, or maintaining a luscious head of hair into his eighties?”

“There is that. Also, he doesn’t have half the, ah… assets you do.”

“Get your hand off my arse, you tosser. I’d haunt you both until the end of time.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You’d believe after I was done.”

“Of course. And so… let’s take our popcorn and chocolates to bed. Perhaps we can watch that programme with the handsome lawyer and his equally attractive private detective while you feed me chocolates?”

“I knew you had a crush on Perry Mason!”

“He’s a fine lawyer.”

“They make it so easy… all his clients are innocent at scratch. A good detective would try to get actual evidence, not just that the person left their earring at the scene.”

“Don’t be bitter, Gregory. You are excellent at your job. Now, gather our food, and meet me upstairs. You can be my detective. This time, with handcuffs.”

**Day seventeen**

“Mycroft…?”

“Hm?”

“What are you… are you crying. Oh god, you’re sick, aren’t you? Damn it, I told you –”

“Not sick.”

“Crying, though.”

“I’m… we should have a dog.”

“Um… okay. But you said you didn’t like dogs.”

“I lied. I didn’t… attachments are so messy.”

“Oh, I know.”

“And if anything happened to the dog…”

“Right. So what brought this on?”

“Nothing in particular. Just a thought.”

“What were you watching?”

“Nothing, Gregory. Stop badgering me, and get us a dog.”

“Mycroft…”

“Fine. There was a film. And there was a dog who loved its master until the end of its life. I want that.”

“You have me, you know.”

“You would like rather attractive with a belled collar, but it really isn’t a fetish that I enjoy. And a dog can lay on my feet during winter.”

“We’re going to have a talk about your fetishes later, mate.”

“We are not. I read that is it healthy for a relationship to have secrets.”

“Not the kind that involve sexual preferences.”

“You’re my sexual preference, period. Back to the subject at hand…”

“Where am I going to get a dog now?”

“You’re very resourceful, and have contacts everywhere. Or you could ask Mummy.”

“You could ask your mum, too.”

“I’m a very busy.”

“Busy crying.”

“Just so.”

“The power behind the throne, sobbing about a dog.”

“I’m merely an auditor for some of the government books.”

“I saw the Queen on your laptop yesterday.”

“You saw nothing.”

“Put your eyebrow down. I saw nothing.”

“Perfect. A dog, Gregory.”

“A corgi?”

“You’ll know when you find it.”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you today?”

“Just this morning, when I attempted to indulge your preference for riding my fingers to completion.”

“Attempted is right. You left midway to take a call.”

“It was urgent. I came back. You finished without me.”

“Yes. And I still hate you.”

“Perfect reason for me to have a dog.”

**Day nineteen**

“Is that my tie?”

“What? Oh, yes. I couldn’t find mine, and I needed one for the meeting. Some mucky-muck was doing a briefing, and I needed to look smart. I was running a bit late, and grabbed the first one I saw.”

“It’s my tie.”

“Yes. I’ll give it back in a bit.”

“Why are you rummaging through my closet?”

“I wasn’t rummaging. I needed a tie, and went and got one. Calm down.”

“I have a specific way I organize my clothes and you’ve ruined it.”

“Oh, I messed about with your silly tie index? Sorry about that.”

“It’s only silly to you because you do everything haphazardly and cross your fingers that it works out.”

“What the fuck is that tone?”

“I don’t like people touching my things. You know this.”

“Well, I’m not people, I’m your husband.”

“My husband who should know better than to wear my tie. My husband who doesn’t know how to load the dishwasher properly, who can’t make a cup of coffee, and who can’t make a bed. It’s all a bit much.”

“Wait… we’re going down this road over wearing your tie? That’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“Maybe I’ve just not said so as to spare your feelings.”

“Have you? Well, you can just fuck right off, Mycroft. You’re not perfect by any bloody stretch of the imagination. You make shite spag bol, and you have shite taste in footie teams. And I hate making the bed because it’s ugly and was made in the dark ages, you twee bastard.”

“All of your taste is in your mouth.”

“All your head is in your arse. Here’s your bloody tie, which, by the way, is ugly, and you should be flattered that I wore it.”

“From the man who wears trousers from the bargain bin at the charity shop. And I’ll thank you not to throw my expensive tie on the floor.”

“I got those trousers as a joke, you bastard.”

“They look like your regular clothes.”

“Oh, fuck off, Mikey.”

“Mycroft.”

“Mr. Holmes.”

“Detective Inspector.”

“We’ll see who you’ll be calling when you’re sleeping alone tonight. Enjoy your cold, metal sleeping tube, you twat.”

“Very mature, slamming the door…!”

***

**Day Twenty-one**

“Gregory?”

“Mr. Holmes?”

“Still? I’ve apologised multiple times.”

“So you did.”

“It was foolish. Close quarters and anxiety are a terrible combination.”

“Well, you have your room and your space and your things all to yourself.”

“I unfairly took my frustrations out on you. Nothing is going to plan, but I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I’m sorry.”

“I know. Just give me some space to get better about the things you said.”

“You called me twee.”

“You can be.”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean it in an awful way. Just you’re persnickety and all about things staying in place. Also, very fancy and have expensive tastes. I don’t, and was comfortable with that. Now I’m not. There’s nothing sharper than a Holmes’ tongue. I know we’re chalk and cheese, but I didn’t think it bothered you so much.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Right. I have a few calls to make. We’ll talk later, love.”

“Gregory…”

“Later, Mycroft.”

“Fine.”

“Still love you, you twee bastard. Later.”

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> The sourdough starter bit is taken from my own life, as is the ordering of frivolous things online. The film Mycroft watched may have been A Dog's Life. I don't know why he did, but no one is unaffected by world events. 
> 
> More to come soon. Thanks for reading. I'm on Tumblr as lyricalsoulwrites.


End file.
